The Donut Shop ✔️

'D' stands for 'Don't Close!'

The end of the world as Ethan knew it started on a typical Tuesday. He should have figured. Tuesdays were the devil, and what happened... well, it was as dastardly as Satan himself. At least to one pastry-loving teen. 

"Careful, someone might be able to see how dorky you are," Tweed said from behind Ethan in the hall. 

Dressed in scuffed Vans, a band tee with a green long-sleeved button-up slung over, and a pair of the type of pants that gave him his name, Tweed was the epitome of edgy. He looked out of place amidst the spotless white walls and the shiny, tiled floor. 

The bell hadn't yet rung, but Ethan wanted to get a headstart on the lab for the day. Their teacher was a witch about turning assignments in on time. If they didn't finish an experiment, they would either have to stay after school. 

Like Ethan wanted to spend any more time in this hellish place. Not that he didn't like school, but he would much rather be at Sol Bakery, his favorite hang-out spot. Even helping his mother with her chores and risking getting smacked with a wooden spoon for doing something wrong would be better than staying after school with Mr. Feld for a lab. 

Ethan turned around, his eyebrow quirked up and his black bangs shading his eyes. He waved to Tweed, who jogged over, catching up to him further down the hall. 

"That doesn't sound very positive, Mr. Ramirez," Ethan mocked in the way that their chemistry teacher did. His friend rolled his eyes, jostling his shoulder.

A spiry, middle-aged man with a comb-over, Mr. Feld dressed like he was the poster child for argyle sweaters and polished dress shoes. When the boys walked into the lab, Ethan's nostrils tingled with the harsh scent of acid. 

Mr. Feld was already seated at his beige metal desk. His keyboard clacked with every stroke of motion. He barely glanced up when the boys walked in and didn't react even when they greeted him. He just grumbled a 'good morning', continuing his ever-present work.

"Someone's grumpy this morning," Tweed whispered to Ethan. He snorted at this as he glanced around the lab. The white walls seemed too intense in the wee hours of the morning, and they contrasted greatly with the onyx, heat-resistant lab tables. 

"We better count our lucky stars he isn't giving us a pop quiz before the lab," Ethan said while he headed to the side of the room, opening up the alloy cabinet. On the sharp edges, the paint faded and showed the cabinet's true color—silver. 

He struggled to untangle the straps of two pairs of goggles from all of the others, but once he managed to free them, he headed over to his and Tweed's lab table. 

Ethan handed Tweed one pair of green and yellowing, aged plastic goggles as he cleaned his own on his shirt below his hoodie. 

Mr. Feld had already wheeled out their cart, filled to the brim with various tools Ethan recognized were used in the chapter diagrams from the book.

"Mr. Feld, are we doing a titration lab?" Ethan asked.

Their teacher snapped up like he had just awoken out of a trance. He looked at the boys, who slipped on their goggles and grabbed the equipment needed for the experiment.

"Oh, yes, we are. Where is everyone?" Mr. Feld glanced up at the clock. When he saw the time, he turned back to the boys, who were enveloped in silence as they set up their beakers with the clear fluid that would soon turn blue.

"You guys are pretty early today," Mr. Feld observed. 

Ethan opened his mouth to speak, but Tweed beat him to it. He had always been known as his friend's sidekick, the introvert to his extrovert, because Tweed was the one who did most of their duo's talking.